


The Way to a Man's Heart

by merperson1



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Diners, M/M, brief depictions of torture, oh and um this might seem out of left field but, so this happened, sometimes i think about foggy, wearing pastels and singing and calling people hon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-13
Updated: 2018-03-13
Packaged: 2019-03-30 19:28:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13958406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merperson1/pseuds/merperson1
Summary: There's a cute new waiter at the local dinerJosie'sand while he seems generally affable there's definitely something..off about his past.





	The Way to a Man's Heart

**Author's Note:**

> So uh yeah this was supposed to less than 5000 words of fluff about Foggy being a waiter and calling people things like sugar and was inspired by this fanart: http://iraya.tumblr.com/post/147179176719 but then I listened to "She used to be mine" like a thousand times in a row and thought "What if I threw some trauma in there?" and this was the result.

Diners were not usually Matt’s primary choice for food establishments, but while New York is the city that never sleeps, it certainly calms down at 4 am. _Josie’s_ happened to be the perfect combination of 24 hour availability, decent food, and an unofficial policy against asking too many questions. If it also happened that there was a new server that smelled like vanilla and fresh strawberries, well, Matt wasn’t exactly going to complain. Walking into the place, he gives a wave vaguely in Josie’s direction, to which she responds with, “As usual, you look like shit Murdock.”

 

“As usual, I wouldn’t know, Josie.”

 

Josie gave a huff as she wiped down one of the counters. “For that sass, I’m sticking the new kid on you.”

 

_Oh no, what a nightmare._ “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

 

It only takes a minute for the waiter to come out from the back, accompanied by a rattling sound and a menu. Before he could say anything, Matt asked, “I’m sorry, but are you wearing _roller skates?”_

 

The waiter nodded, then cheerfully said, “I just nodded. Sure am! Didn’t ya hear? _Josie’s_ is a full-blown 50’s themed joint now. Pastels, neons, Rat Pack posters, the whole shebang.”

 

“Well, considering that classic rock is playing and I know Josie as a person, I somehow very sincerely doubt that.”

 

“You caught me. I just needed the roller skates because 4 am is when we have our big rush. How on Earth would I get to all of our customers otherwise?”

 

“I’m just amazed Josie let you. She’s not usually one for antics.”

 

“Well, hon, I’m very much one for antics and I’m known to be exceedingly convincing. Probably due to my wily charm.”

 

“You do seem to be both very wily and very charming, Mr.-?”

 

Matt heard a bit of a shrug and a noise that usually indicated a wide smile. “People call me Foggy. Which is how this whole conversation should’ve started out, really. You know, the whole ‘Hi, I’m Foggy, I’ll be your server this morning’ spiel. Anyway, braille menu’s right in front of you, and can I start you off with some coffee today?”

 

Matt blinked wearily, a yawn unwittingly escaping and changing his mind on just taking the regular drip. “A redeye would be great if you have it.”

 

“Getting espresso from this place? You’re quite the daredevil.”

 

A moment passes before Matt realizes that, no, Foggy doesn’t somehow know his secret identity after talking to him for a total of two minutes. Forcing himself to relax, he gives what he hopes is an easy smile and says, “I didn’t know coffee was such a risky decision.”

 

“Josie has used the espresso machine maybe once, if that. No worries though, I’ll whip up something real special for ya darlin’, right after I go serve the two other poor souls here at this unholy hour. Sound good?”

 

“Sounds perfect.” There was a slightly besotted edge to Matt’s voice that he mentally cursed himself for. Harmless flirting with a waiter at 4am shouldn’t leave him softly tracking Foggy’s movements, even if the man _did_ have one of the most audible smiles he’d ever heard. Also, the flirting wasn’t exactly exclusive to him. Foggy was calling everyone terms of endearment, _including Josie,_ which would’ve gotten anyone else a (threatened) shotgun to the face. Even though Foggy had been joking when he discussed his charms, Matt was starting to suspect they hadn’t actually been all that exaggerated.

 

When Foggy came back to his table, he’d been distracted enough that he hadn’t even attempted to review the menu. He also doesn’t exactly get any less distracted from the menu when Foggy leans ever so slightly on his table, places down the cup, and says, “There’s your redeye love, now I just remembered I forgot to ask you if, ya know, actually _wanted_ any food, or if you’re just here for a quick caffeine fix,” so knowing what the hell he’s going to order is a mystery unto itself.

 

Putting on the most charming of his smiles (and making Foggy’s heart race just a _tad_ bit faster), Matt laughed and said, “I could eat.”

 

There was a click and a flip as Foggy pulled out his notebook and pen. “Excellent! What can I do for ya?”

 

Before Matt could stop his sleep deprived mouth, out came, “Ideally you could come back to my place, but for now I’d just appreciate hearing your recommendations.”

 

The amount of heat that was coming from Foggy’s face indicated a heavy blush and Matt would’ve been proud of his ability to make Foggy stutter if that had _actually been his goal,_ rather than a product of an exhausted lack of filter. As it was, Foggy’s blush was being matched by Matt’s own, but Foggy didn’t seem like he was two seconds from kicking Matt out, so that was a plus. Instead, Foggy laughed it of as the product of 4 am rambling that the comment was (and it was. Matt didn’t _actually_ wanna take this waiter home and maybe kiss his neck to pull in his scent even deeper. Or, well. Matt who was a little more awake and a little less punch drunk didn’t want that. Probably.) “Sorry hon, but I don’t get off ‘til six and I don’t put out on the first date. Specials, on the other hand, I can easily provide. There’s a ham and eggs platter half off for the early bird crowd, but _I’d_ recommend the strawberry waffles. You’ll have to wait a little longer, but we get a fresh shipment of strawberries in about ten, I’ll personally be whipping up the cream, and to be honest, judging by the state of your face, you sure seem like you could use some sweetness in your life.”

 

“Can’t I get that already by being in the presence of such a sweet talker?”

 

There’s a pause that usually indicates a facial expression he’s missing out on and Foggy’s heart is pounding, but the beat is in line with mild excitement . “I’m rolling my eyes at you, sugar. And I’m ordering you those waffles, no ifs, ands or buts.”

 

“I wasn’t aware that’s how this system is supposed to work.”

 

“For regular customers, maybe. But you have a reputation ‘round these parts, _Matthew_. Josie has reliably informed me that you don’t know what’s good for you, and considering that that very nice nose of yours looks like it’s been broken and reset more than a few times, I’m inclined to believe her. Now I’m gonna go make a new batch, and in about twenty you’ll have the best damn breakfast of your life, and you’ll sing my praises in the early morn’.”

 

“I’m afraid I’m not much of a singer.”

 

“Then you’ll butcher singin’ my praises in the early morn’. Be back real quick.”

 

“I’ll be here.”

 

For twenty minutes, Matt was perfectly content to wait, taking in the sounds and smells associated with food prep. The ingredients that had been brought in were higher quality than Matt had remembered, the whipping cream having just been dropped off from a dairy farm and the strawberries ripened to perfection. Foggy was humming while he worked, an older song Matt didn’t quite recognize, and he took frequent breaks in order to refill the other patrons’ coffee. Something about the whole process seemed very..content. Calm, in a way that Matt hadn’t experienced in years. Despite the caffeine and the uncomfortable booth and the general publicity of the diner, Matt could’ve fallen asleep right then and there. Fortunately, Foggy arrived in time to perk him up with a mouth-watering plate of waffles. “Eat ‘em and weep, Murdock.”

 

Matt pretends that he’s being indulgent when he takes his first bite, but really the smell that is coming off the plate is goddamn _decadent._ Matt almost feels guilty eating it. Almost being the predominant word here, because the waffles are delicious enough to not only make Matt audibly moan, but for him to seriously consider proposing to Foggy right then and there. He also very carefully did _not_ seriously consider things he’d like to do involving Foggy and whipped cream, because thinking about things like that when you were both sleep and socially deprived is not typically recommended for one’s sanity and general health.

 

Voice positively dripping with smugness, Foggy asked, “So, what’s the verdict?”

 

“Marry me.”

 

Apparently seriously considering proposing had evolved into actually doing it. Good to know. Lovely person that he was, Foggy just laughed off the comment as an expression of appreciation rather than a sincere offer. “I’d say yes, but I’m afraid I’m still tryin’ to get a ring on Josie’s finger. She’s the only one for me.”

 

That got a snort out of Josie, who had apparently been eavesdropping this whole time. “Keep dreamin’, kid.”

 

“One day Josie, one day you’ll want to settle down with a nice young man and I’ll be there waiting with open arms.”

 

Josie didn’t respond verbally, but based on her character Matt suspected she was flipping him off. Luckily, Foggy took the guesswork out of these things. “She just flipped me off. She’s totally into me.”

 

A stab of jealously ran through Matt, which was ridiculous on at least 17 different levels. Foggy was _joking_ and had also known Matt for _30 minutes_ and it’s stupid to be that into someone just because they were _nice_ and made you _waffles_ because it’s their _job._ Get over yourself, Murdock.

 

To avoid saying, “But I’m _more_ into you,” like a petulant child, Matt instead said, “I’m sure.”

 

“I’ll be sending you an invite to the wedding soon, just you wait. For now though, I’m gonna stop gabbing and let you eat your waffles. When I return though, I expect the singing I was promised.”

 

“Hey, just because your waffles are worthy of a proposal doesn’t mean they’re necessarily worthy of sung praises.”

 

“You know, most people would rank sung praises below a marriage proposal.”

 

“Do I seem like most people to you?”

 

“That has yet to be determined, Mr. Murdock.”

 

With that, Foggy walked off and actually did his job rather than stand around and chat with Matt, and Matt rapturously ate his meal. No singing ended up happening, but he did leave a 30% tip on a meal he couldn’t fully afford in the first place both for the quality and the company before quietly making his way back into his real life.

 

~*~

“Back into his real life” ended up happening for less than 24 hours, and he ended up coming back the next four mornings, much to Josie’s amusement and hopefully Foggy’s delight. On the fourth night, the moment he walked through the door Josie faced him and said, “He ain’t here kid.”

 

Faux casually, he asks, “Who’s not here?”

 

“You know damn well who. Everyone here knows you’ve been making goo-goo eyes at Foggy, and he’s got today and tomorrow off.”

 

Wincing at the tell-tale “Oh,” he lets out, he decides to try and not be quite so obvious. “It’s a fine establishment Josie, I come here for many reasons. Like the delightful food. And the lovely sound of your voice.”

 

Josie actually scoffs at him, folding her arms and saying, “You’re foolin’ no one Matt, now go get some sleep and you can come back in two days to flirt to your heart’s content, but I ain’t gonna let you drink coffee and mope, ya understand?”

 

Instinct told Matt to fight, to insist that he _wasn’t_ just here to quietly pine over Foggy and his lovely voice and his perfect waffles, but arguing that with Josie would be worse than pointless. Instead, he mumbled out a “Yes ma’am,” and shuffled out of the restaurant while Josie called out, “See ya in 48 hours!”

 

Pros to not having Foggy work those two nights: he got more than hour or two of sleep, he wasn’t spending money he didn’t have on diner food, and there was a lack of anyone chastising him for his new, unexplained injuries.

 

Cons to not having Foggy work those two nights: No Foggy. Really, there was no comparison.

 

_Goddammit_ , Josie was right. Almost exactly 48 hours after the last time he arrived, he was standing by the front door, his presence rewarded by soft singing emanating from the kitchen. In that moment, he made the decision to not enter for the next minute or so, because, well, he door had a bell that chimed whenever someone entered, and Matt really didn’t want to disturb Foggy or, heaven forbid, make him stop. Instead, Matt leaned against the window and closed his eyes, letting Foggy's rendition of “Dream a Little Dream of Me” temporarily engulf his stresses. Once the song was over, Matt took a deep breath and smiled a little easierbefore finally entering the diner.

 

The chime immediately brought Foggy to attention, and Matt realized that it was just the two of them tonight. Oh dear, it seems he would he would have Foggy’s undivided attention. How horrible. Foggy headed out of the kitchen, wiping his hands of the pastry dough he had been working on, and jokingly said, “Hey Matt! Long time no see.”

 

“Yeah, over twenty years.”

 

A beat.

 

“Fuck off.”

 

“And here I was telling everyone about your superb customer service.”

 

“Well, hon, it’s hardly my fault that you’ve been spreading lies. I was hired purely for my killer dance moves.”

 

“Makes sense. Dance moves make or break a waiter.”

 

“Finally someone gets it. Also, as much as I’m enjoying this standing around bantering, have you instead considered sitting and eating food bantering? It comes highly recommended by a local expert in the field known as me.”

 

Matt had abandoned trying to temper his grin into something not quite so lovestruck on the second day of coming to the diner, so he gave Foggy the full blast as he asked, “Actually, would you mind leading the way? I’ve heard that you’re the man for getting the least sticky booth in the house.”

 

The least sticky booth in Josie’s was without fail the third window booth on the left. With the diner being so empty, it was no great task for Matt to head there on his own. However, he _may_ have been looking for an excuse to touch Foggy. He was rewarded for his little ruse with the comforting crook of Foggy’s elbow, his body heat closer than ever, and a unique opportunity to innocently stroke Foggy’s bicep with his thumb. Even though it only took a few moments for them to get to the booth, Matt was already quietly planning for situations that would let Foggy lead him for a much longer time. Before he brought those plans into fruition, however, he’d first have to make sure to come in when he wasn’t running on purely adrenaline and caffeine. That way he could reassure Foggy (and himself, quite honestly) that the desire to spend time with him was not borne of Foggy being the one that serves him food while he’s starving and exhausted, but because of Foggy’s general merits as a human being.

 

“So what’ll it be today?”

 

“Whatever you’re making right now smells absolutely wonderful.”

 

“Soft pretzels, good choice.”

 

“I’m relatively certain Josie’s doesn’t serve soft pretzels.”

 

“Hon, do I _sound_ like Josie?”

 

Mouth caught somewhere between a smirk and a beaming grin, Matt replied, “No, not quite. More like Ella Fitzgerald.”

 

That comment got him a loud groan from Foggy, who, notebook still in hand, covered his face and was sporting a pretty fierce blush. Perfect. “Oh god, you noticed the singing?”

 

“Of course I noticed the singing. You’re very noticeable, Foggy.”

 

That gets Foggy’s hand off his face, but only to transition into slumped shoulders, and _no that’s not what Matt wanted._ “Uh, thanks, I think, but _wow_ I hope that not true.”

 

Alarm bells started ringing in Matt’s head, because there was something morose? Self-deprecating? Disheartened? _Something_ definitely wrong in Foggy’s voice that couldn’t be accounted for by simple shyness. Before he could parse out Foggy’s tone, he quickly covered up his sigh with a laugh, plowing on ahead with, “I mean, my singing voice is horrific, I’m surprised I didn’t scare you off.”

 

_Wrong._ His voice both speaking and singing was the aural equivalent of the first break of sunshine through months of bitter rain. Also, _lie._ Foggy was hiding something from him and it bothered him and he had absolutely no right to Foggy’s secrets but that didn’t mean he didn’t _want_ them. However, a combination of decent raising and a quiet mental reminder that he wasn’t exactly an open book himself stopped him from snooping. “My hearing’s pretty good Foggy, your singing voice is the opposite of horrific.”

 

Foggy let out a sincerely unflattering snort that helped ease some of the itch in his fingers and the pressure pushing against his chest. It was going to be very, very bad for Matt if Foggy was secretly evil, because that laugh was _very_ endearing and could maybe persuade Matt to go against many of his moral codes. Maybe. Hopefully not.

 

“Thanks again, hon, but I’m almost certain the rest of the world and specifically my high school drama coach would disagree with you.”

 

It wasn’t exactly what Matt wanted to know and it certainly didn’t account for Foggy’s sudden shift in joviality, but it certainly was _part_ of Foggy’s back story that he _absolutely_ wanted to know more about. “High school drama?”

 

“Oh yeah. Best goddamn chorus member of the school for sure. I was in every major production that didn’t conflict with the hockey schedule.”

 

“Hockey? Odd mix of activities.”

 

“Not really. Skating kept me light on my feet for choreography and nothing hones a keen sense of violence like being a theater kid.”

 

“Is that so?”

 

“You know it, sugar. Now I’m gonna get finished up on that dough so it won’t take an hour for you to get fed, and I’ll grab you a red-eye on the house for lying about my singing and because Josie isn’t here to stop me.”

 

“I’m not lying.”

 

“Sure you’re not, you charmer.”

 

As much as Foggy decried his own (lovely) voice, Matt noticed that he was singing “Let’s Do It (Let’s Fall in Love)” just a little louder and clearer while he was in the kitchen. Despite the niggling worry in the back of his mind, it was certainly one of Matt’s best mornings.

 

~*~

The mystery that was Foggy did not stop with that one night. There was a staunch refusal to discuss any time in his life that was between his high school graduation to coming to work here. He talked extensively about his family, though never by name, and _speaking of_ names, Matt still didn’t Foggy’s last one or real first one. Matt would normally just suspect that Foggy had fallen in with the wrong crowd post high school, maybe served some time, but when Matt oh so subtlety asked if Josie had hired any ex-cons recently she had doubled over laughing as she told him that the most criminal thing the kid had ever done was pirate some textbooks in college. This told him that a: Foggy _did_ go to college and b: he had no idea why Foggy was being shifty on certain subjects.

 

His confusion was hardly alleviated on a rare occasion that he came to the diner to actually work on his day job rather than, well, his night one. The first night was because his apartment still had shards from his destroyed coffee table and smelled too much like blood and long neglected laundry and he hadn’t felt this goddamn _lonely_ in awhile and even though sleep eluded him he could at least enjoy the smells of whatever recipe Foggy was experimenting with and the quiet activity of a diner at 3 in the morning. He was trying to comb through some particularly dense property law for a rent control disparity when Foggy walked by arms full of plates, stopped, and backed up to snoop. At first, Matt thought nothing of it, as most people’s snooping left them unsatisfied for a number of reasons, when out of the blue, Foggy said, “Oh man, property law? That stuff’s miserable. What’re you using it for?”

 

Letting an unbidden yawn escape, Matt rubbed at his eyes and likely smudged up his glasses something fierce, before replying, “Trying to keep my client from being kicked out onto the street and/or sued. Her rent is supposed to stay constant until 2025, but technically her contract was signed by her grandmother, not her, so it may not hold.”

 

“Huh. Well, if you’re reading what I think you’re reading, and if I remember correctly, I think there’s something in the first couple paragraphs of section four discussing family constituents that could help you. Not that I’m telling you how to do your job or anything.”

 

Matt frowned in the direction of the paper, then in the direction of Foggy, then back to the papers before going to the passage that Foggy discussed. Sure enough, there was a loophole Matt could almost certainly exploit. Huh. That’s..huh. Frowning to the point where it may more honestly be called a pout, Matt asked, “Why do you know about property law?”

 

Foggy shrugs, then says, “I just shrugged. I looked up some stuff a while back, my parent’s hardware store was having some issues that I helped out with.”

 

Not a lie, technically, but definitely not the full truth. “And you can sight read braille?”

 

“Oh! Yeah, I took a class in college and continued until I was fluent.”

 

“Any particular reason?”

 

“Initially? A hot girl was in it. And a hot guy. All around distraction for dumb-ass 18 year old me, but after I stopped focusing on them and started paying attention on the language I fell in love with it, ya know?”

 

“I get that. I mean, when I was first learning braille I hated it, resented the very idea that I needed to, but after awhile it was nice to be able to do something that most people couldn’t. The, um, the autonomy of it in a time when I felt pretty helpless was a comfort.”

 

At the time, there were some _other_ things he was learning at the time that developed his independence, but Foggy certainly didn’t need to know about late night martial arts training.

 

“Oh hey! Fun fact, that’s why I originally learned how to cook. I mean, I think we’ve all had those times where things seemed to spiral out of control, and being able to feed myself well was one of the things I actually had power over. Plus it got me this sweet gig. Speaking of this sweet gig, I gotta get these dishes back. I’ll be back with your boring ass oatmeal soon hon.”

 

The hints of wrongness in Foggy’s stories are what drove Matt to continue pushing, or at least that’s what Matt told himself. He made sure to go ahead and bring work stuff by more often, and without fail, Foggy was able to help with whatever challenges he was facing. Matt turned it into somewhat of a game whenever they both had the time. Attempting to find something obscure enough that Foggy would falter proved fruitless, as the man appeared to have throughly encyclopedic knowledge of the law. Finally, when Foggy pulled out a settlement from 1742 that could establish precedent for their issue, Matt snapped and asked, “Why the hell aren’t you a lawyer?”

 

Foggy stiffened from his side of the booth where he had joined Matt for his 30 minute break, and forced himself to say, “I couldn’t cut it as a lawyer. It happens.”

 

“Bullshit.”

 

“Oh really?” A new edge came into Foggy’s voice.“Why might that be?”

 

“You’re far too knowledgeable for you to not have passed the bar with flying colors, and I _know_ that you build and could easily present air-tight cases. Plus, Jesus Foggy, you _obviously_ love the law, so why the hell are you here serving pancakes to insomniacs?”

 

Foggy pushed himself out of the booth, but didn’t turn away from Matt once while he was speaking. “I don’t know Matt, why am I? _Maybe_ the skills that get you through law school don’t always translate into the real world. _Maybe_ I goddamn enjoy my job, and I’m _good_ at making and serving food, and none of my own fuck-ups can get anyone badly hurt. _Maybe_ when I say that I couldn’t cut it I wasn’t lying to you, because I couldn’t, okay! I could not handle being a lawyer and so I tried to figure out something else I could actually do and I could serve pancakes to insomniacs.”

 

“I didn’t mean to upset you.”

 

“I kinda think you did, Matt. I mean, you’re not exactly subtle. You’ve been trying to unlock my tragic back story since the first week, which is stupid and ridiculous for a couple of reasons but the main one being that I am your _waiter._ Why would you care in the first place?”

 

Matt desperately wants to take Foggy’s hand but that feels like it would be crossing a line even if Foggy wasn’t actively pissed off at him. Instead, he pointed his wounded face at Foggy and earnestly replied, “Because I consider you a friend. Your voice sounds distant sometimes, regretful even, and I’d like to help fix that but I can’t help if I don’t _know_ anything. It’s terrible when you sound sad.”

 

The harsh tone Foggy had employed didn’t completely go away but it certainly muffled when wrapped in layers of softness. “Oh hon, I appreciate the sentiment but it’s really not your job to fix any of my crap. And honestly, I’m just bellyachin’ most of the time, I really am doing pretty alright for myself. Yeah, I do miss being a lawyer, but I wasn’t like fantastic or anything. A better man might be able to go back to it, but not me.”

 

Foggy’s heart rate was steady as ever and Matt _hated_ it. He never thought that he’d be in a position where he hoped someone he cared about was lying to him, but here he was, genuinely wishing Foggy didn’t think he wasn’t _good_ enough. Matt opened his mouth to argue, tell Foggy that he’s the best man Matt’s ever met, but Foggy’s already walking away from him and something told him that he was supposed to drop it.

 

So he did.

 

For now.

 

Until a woman named Karen Page entered the diner on a Saturday morning.

 

When she first came into Josie’s, Matt paid her no mind beyond noting her thorough exhaustion, which was par for the course at this hour. He would’ve continued to ignore her if it hadn’t been for Foggy’s breathing becoming shallow and sweat turning acrid as soon as he turned to face her. Matt went on high alert, still running his fingers over the text in front of him while calculating what moves he could make if the woman turned out to be a threat. Foggy took in a preparatory deep breath before he headed to her table, voice uneven and lacking the genuine cheer that Matt had grown accustomed to after the past couple months. “Hi, um, can I get you anything to drink to start you off? Maybe some coffee?”

 

As soon as he had spoken, the woman’s head snapped up and any trace of weariness was gone. Her words came out as a vicious hiss in response, asking, “Franklin Percy Nelson, _what in the actual fuckening Hell?”_

 

Swallowing hard, Foggy (Franklin? Matt knew the name Franklin Nelson from somewhere, but he couldn’t pin it down.) pushed forward. “Hey-o Karen. How’s it hangin’?”

 

“How’s it _hanging?!_ Oh, I don’t know Foggy, not _super_ great considering one of my only close friends decided to up and disappear six months ago apparently to go be a fucking _waiter_ of all things.”

 

“I’m also a cook?”

 

“Is that supposed to make it _better?”_

 

“No, I, fuck, I’m..I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to, um, do any of this, I just, I didn’t want anyone to worry.”

 

“Really?” Uh-oh, Matt can smell tears coming off of both of them now. So much for Karen being a combatant threat. “Because that seems kinda hard to believe when the last thing I got from you, that _anyone’s_ gotten from you was a text telling me the firm was closed. Jesus fucking Christ Foggy, your mom’s _still_ calling me once a week to ask if I’ve heard any news. I get why you’d want to lay low for a while, but why did you hide from all of us? You know, the people who care about you and were wondering if you were even _alive?_ ”

 

“I don’t...I don’t have an answer for you. I thought that maybe it’d all be better this way? Like, maybe it’s better that no one sees me at all than have them see me falling apart? Maybe I thought it be safer this way, that if I fell off the grid then you guys wouldn’t come under attack? God, fuck, Karen, I don’t know. I don’t know if I was thinking at all? I might of just been...reacting, I guess. And it was shitty of me to not bother to stop and, like, think about what I was doing rather than just _doing_ it and I wasn’t trying to hurt you or anyone and I know that I _did_ and I’m sorry.”

 

“Foggy, I get it. Trauma makes people do weird shit. But even though I understand _why_ you did it, you still should’ve called and you scared the shit out of your family and I’m still gonna think of you as an asshole for an indeterminate amount of time.”

 

“Yeah, that’s fair.”

 

Karen pauses here, and turns her head away from Foggy in favor of staring out the window. With a sigh, she says, “For what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re not dead. I just would’ve liked to have known that a little earlier.”

 

“Thank you, Karen. I..it means a lot.”

 

Karen makes a soft noise of acknowledgement before looking at her menu, and quietly saying, “I think I’m ready to order.”

 

Foggy doesn’t bother to employ his customer service voice, but he does use a slightly less downtrodden one when he says, “Excellent. What’ll it be?”

 

Karen orders hash-browns and the most caffeinated thing they have and the diner’s patrons all go back to pretending they hadn’t been listening in the entire time. There was some residual tension palpable in the air, but it dissipated enough that by the end of Karen’s meal Foggy’s heart beat sounded normal again. They exchanged a few pleasantries with genuine promises that Foggy wouldn’t cut off contact again before Karen headed out to hopefully get some sleep.

 

As Foggy came over to refill Matt’s cup, it finally clicked where Matt knew the name “Franklin Nelson” before. Maybe one difficult conversation in the span of 40 minutes was enough for the guy, and yet Matt still blurted out, “You’re Franklin Nelson?”

 

Popping the p, Foggy just replied, “Yep.”

 

“As in Franklin Nelson, the man who single-handedly took down crime lord Wilson Fisk.”

 

“ _God_ no. I didn’t do shit single-handedly. Karen did like 99.9% of the research, I just had the law degree to back up my claims. I also have this other friend that snuck me some info and, I mean, that Daredevil guy had to actually, ya know, _physically_ take him down. Good thing we were following the same leads. But like if you’re generally asking if I’m _that_ Franklin Nelson as opposed to some other Franklin Nelson, then, yes, that’s me.”

 

“You imprisoned a kingpin and you ‘couldn’t cut it as a lawyer’?”

 

“Got it in one.”

 

Foggy’s tone was pointedly flat, but Matt was _finally_ getting somewhere to solving the puzzle that was Franklin “Foggy” Nelson and he had no intentions of stopping now. This time, he didn’t stop himself from reaching out, hand barely touching Foggy’s wrist. Foggy immediately froze, and Matt was careful to keep his words slow and soft, as not to startle him any further. “Fogs, why did you really stop being a lawyer?”

 

Foggy’ body went from fully rigid to utterly deflated, voice crackling and fatigued in a way Matt had never heard from him. “I don’t want to talk about it. Not..not right now Matt. Not while I’m at work, okay?”

 

It’s….not a great answer, but it sure as hell isn’t nothing. Also, Foggy hasn’t shoved off his hand, which emboldens Matt to rub a few soothing circles with his thumb and ask, “Then we get coffee? After your shift?”

 

Foggy’s quiet for a moment, head barely turning (probably) to glance down at where Matt’s hand is still resting. Mat almost pulls back, feeling like he’s broken some social contract, when Foggy rests the coffee pot on the table a gives a half hearted chuckle. “This is like your fourth cup of coffee, hon. I don’t want to be responsible for your caffeine-induced heart attack.”

 

“So I’ll order decaf. Or one of those sweet things you always try to tempt me with.”

 

“You’re not gonna be deterred on this, are you? I’m gonna ask again, why does it matter so much to you that I’m not a lawyer?”

 

Because for months Matt has been listening to Foggy’s weary sighs when he doesn’t think anyone else can here. Because sometimes when no one else is around and before Matt has walked through the door, he catches Foggy singing notes of not old jazz or 80s pop but melancholy songs of regret. Because he’s Josie’s best cook and a pretty decent server and she still hopes day that today will be the day he’ll finally quit for something better. Because when Matt enlists Foggy to help him with cases there’s a fire in his voice that resonates deeply from within his chest and Matt never knew that a heart could sound happy but Foggy’s _does_ and Matt would give anything to make Foggy sound like that all the time. Because something is preventing the best person he knows from doing what he truly _loves_ and Matt will fight that thing with fists or words or or whatever he needs to but he needs know what that thing _is_ first.

 

“Because you still want to be a lawyer.”

 

Foggy’s heart tumbles, and instead of acknowledging Matt’s declaration, he does a subject quick change. “I don’t get off for two more hours. Josie’s pretty lenient with you but I doubt she’ll let you loiter _that_ long.”

 

“Well, I’d go home and change into something a little nicer. Less blood stains and all that.”

 

“Oh ho, a non-bloodstained outfit for lil’ ol me? How would I even recognize you?”

 

“There _is_ still all the bruises, and I’ve been told my glasses are very distinctive. Also, I’m almost certain that you’ve seen me without bloodstains at least once.”

 

“Yeah, like, _maybe_ exactly once. You seem to live a pretty brutal lifestyle hon.”

 

It’s actually odd that Foggy’s never asked about said brutal lifestyle. While Josie’s had a standing policy of “mind your own damn business”, Foggy tended to be the exception to that rule. Getting involved in his customer’s lives was a regular occurrence for him, consistently asking questions about their lives that are just this side of nosy in an attempt to make sure everyone was doing all right. More often than not, Foggy ends up slipping various resources in with the bill, whether it be the number of A.A. sponsors or good tourist trap pamphlets, and on a dozen or so occasions, Matt’s business card. It’s not exactly a common occurrence that people break down telling him their life story, but Matt wouldn’t call it a rarity either. Considering how often customers return no longer smelling like blood or tears or any number of illicit vices,and how secretly pleased Foggy gets when he solves a problem, Matt figured that Foggy would’ve tried unravel Matt’s situation. For a while, Matt felt grateful that Foggy refused to pry, but now it just seemed terribly unjust that he should be so demanding of Foggy’s past without offering some answers in return. Thus, despite it being an absolutely terrible idea, Matt offered up, “Um, if you wanted to ask about said brutal lifestyle over that coffee, you could.”

 

“Wait, really?”

 

There was a distinct smile in Foggy’s voice that made it apparent that Foggy had withheld his questions about Matt’s life out of polite reservation rather than any lack of interest.

 

“Only seems fair.”

 

“In that case, I suppose I’ll accept that coffee, despite the fact that you’ll probably think significantly less of me by the time our conversation is over.”

 

_Not fucking likely._ “Let me guess, you took down Fisk just because you wanted to fill in that power vacuum yourself. The whole waiter thing has been a cover-up all along.”

 

Foggy’s laugh is sharp and bright against the ails of the morning, and Matt can’t help but feel victorious. “Oh man, I wish. I’d have way more bank if I was moonlighting as a kingpin, but alas, I am but a poor and humble cook.”

 

“Then I somehow doubt that whatever you have to tell me could lower my opinion of you. Plus, uh, you might not be super fond of me after our conversation either.”

 

“You’re sayin’ we’re at equal levels of debauchery?”

 

“Maybe, yeah.”

 

“I can live with that. I mean, I’m probably still gonna regret this coffee, but, fuck it, right? How about the place that’s two blocks to the left of this diner? You know, the one that goddamn pile-drives people with cinnamon as soon as you get to their front door? Their coffee’s meh but their hot chocolate is made from the ambrosia of the gods.”

 

“I know the place. I don’t, however, know their hot chocolate.”

 

“ _Ambrosia of the gods_ , Matt. Which, considering the subjects we’re gonna be discussing, I think we’ve not only earned but full-on deserve for our struggles. I was thinking we could meet there at 6:30? Give me a chance to change into something a little less greasy and generally stained.”

 

“6:30 works for me.”

 

“Excellent! Now that we’ve got that arranged, as much as I appreciate the sort of hand holding, you’re gonna have to release me so that I can do my job.”

 

Shit, Matt hadn’t even realized he was still clinging to Foggy. As he snatched his hand back, there was apparently something tense in his expression, because Foggy just laughed at him and ruffled his hair. As Foggy walked away, Matt felt a few blissful moments of bubbly giddiness for their...date? Hangout? Mutual and potentially therapeutic discussion of trauma? Then, almost instantly, he thought just a tad too hard about it and those bubbles popped, leaving an intense apprehension in their place.

 

~*~

At this moment, Matt was feeling pretty justified in his dread. If there was one defining feature of Foggy Nelson, it was his loquaciousness. His ability to fill up empty spaces with chatter was not only admirable, but necessary for his current profession. Yet, ever since meeting up in front of the coffee shop, Fogy had barely spoken outside of ordering the drinks, and Lord knows Matt’s abilities didn’t include small talk. Stuck between letting Foggy taking his time and wanting to stop stewing in silence, Matt finally blurted out, “You don’t have to do this, you know,” as they grabbed their cocoas.

 

“Hmm?”

 

“You don’t, um, have to talk to me about ...any of it. I mean, Jesus, who am I to be making requests?”

 

“What? Oh, hey, Matt, no. You’re my friend, it’s completely reasonable for you to want to know what happened, _especially_ after that whole thing with Karen. I’m pretty sure half the diner wanted to pry open my life story after that little discussion. Plus, I mean, dropping off the face of the Earth is hardly a usual modus operandi for dealing with shit, it would be weird if you weren’t curious. Also, I do want to talk to you about everything that happened. Well, not _want_ to, per se, no one wants to talk about the kind of malarkey that paints them as both a coward and a fool, but I _should_ talk to someone about everything that went down, and you offered.”

 

“Where do you, um, want to talk? Are you thinking of staying in or heading out?”

 

“Oh, head out for sure. Sitting somewhere and discussing serious issues is the worst. It’s like, what is this? A meeting with a high school guidance counselor? Walking and talking, now that’s where it’s at.”

 

“Any particular direction or is this an aimless walking and talking?”

 

Nudging Matt in order to offer his elbow, Foggy replies, “I’m thinkin’ a park? Doesn’t really matter honestly, but Hell’s kitchen park is close by and trees are nice and I’ve had like..a solid half of my intense conversations in a park so why break the tradition of a lifetime.”

 

“I can go for a park.”

 

That was the end of the conversation for another few minutes, Matt not willing to speak up and Foggy mulling over his next step. Finally, about a fourth of the way to their destination, Foggy changes his breathing and swallows hard, before saying, “So how much do you know about Wilson Fisk?”

 

Matt shrugs, trying to make up for the way his heart is pounding. “I followed the case pretty closely when it was happening.”

 

“Then you definitely know about all the, uh, fraud and trafficking and um, murder?”

 

When Matt replies, “Yeah, and you nailed him to the wall for that fraud, right?” he can’t quite keep all the pride out of his voice. He’s kind of ridiculously proud of all of Foggy’s accomplishments, but he’s borderline in awe of Foggy’s ability to not only see through all of Fisk’s lies, but to actually _do_ something about it.

 

However, Foggy tells him, “Yeah, Karen and I did,” without a hint of a smile in his voice. In fact, he’s starting to smell like salt and cortisol and Matt doesn’t _understand_ but Foggy keeps plowing ahead. “We did, but it took us a while. Too long. Good...good people people died while we were getting our shit together. Friends, innocent people, people that would still be making the world a better place if it hadn’t been for us meddling kids.”

 

Matt knows that particular set of regrets all too well. He also is aware of how incredibly difficult it is to comfort someone in those circumstances, to say something that could alleviate their guilt so it doesn’t consume them entirely. In fact, whenever he figures out how to fix that kind of mental load, he’ll let Foggy know. Until then, all he really knows to do is give Foggy’s arm a reassuring squeeze, which elicits a chuckle that’s shot past watery to utterly drowned. “And here’s where, like the asshole that I am, I make it all about me. Welcome to the goddamned Foggy Nelson show.”

 

“Foggy..”

 

“No, no, shit, okay, um, _fuck,_ how do I put this? It’s, I, huh, it’s just. I was almost one of those people.”

 

A healthy human heart doesn’t actually skip beats. Minor, fluttering arrhythmias aren’t uncommon, but the heart doesn’t just _stop_ for a bit. However, Matt’s spent twenty years getting to know the sounds of people’s hearts, and knows the fumbling pattern that people call “skipping a beat.” Matt’s heart,at this moment, does that exact miasma of sounds before entering double time, and he sure as hell forgets how to breathe.

 

Keeping a death grip on Foggy’s arm won’t protect him, won’t somehow retroactively prevent any harm that came to him, but it will sure as hell keep Matt upright for the time being. Foggy almost _died._ Foggy almost _died_ and Matt wouldn’t have even known anything _happened_ and the world almost lost one of the most incredible people Matt’s ever met to the hands of _Fisk._

 

“Woah, Matt, you okay? You’re not lookin’ too hot.” Foggy’s voice comes through stronger and no longer bogged down with tears, trying to take care of Matt even when they’re talking about _Foggy’s_ near death experience. Matt’s voice, on the other hand, is utterly _wrecked_ when he hisses out, “ _You almost died.”_

 

Foggy lays his hand over Matt’s death grip, and it lets Matt feel his pulse steady and solid, letting Matt know he’s _alive alive alive_ with every beat. Matt starts breathing in time with Foggy’s heart as Foggy says, “Yeah, I did. But I’m here now, aren’t I?”

 

As Matt whispers out, “Thank God,” he considers derailing their conversation entirely to kiss Foggy and show him just how overjoyed he is at Foggy’s living, breathing presence. Instead, he pushes forward. “How did it happen?”

 

Letting out a sigh, Foggy replies, “It was stupid, at least on my part. It wasn’t even Fisk that came after me.

 

See, I kind of implied I was one of those people that almost got killed on the journey to stopping Fisk, but that’s a bit of a misnomer. Fisk had no clue who I was until I was staring him down in court, and by that time it was too late to exact his revenge, or so I thought.

 

Here I was, believing that after Daredevil gave Fisk the beat-down and he was locked firmly away, Karen and I were safe. I was right about Karen, I’m still relatively certain Fisk doesn’t know how much of a part she played in bringing him down. On the other hand, if someone, say Fisk’s fiancée, wanted to exact some revenge, my name, address, place of work, basically everything about me was all publicly available knowledge.”

 

“ _Oh.”_

 

“Yeah, I had forgotten about Vanessa Marianna too. She was smart about it, promptly left after Fisk’s arrest, let the dust settle before she made her move. It was about a month after everything had gone down, when I had finally stopped holding my breath in anticipation for something terrible to happen, some goons took me from my apartment. In broad daylight even, which just seems plain rude, honestly.

 

_Anyway_ , they took me to some undisclosed warehouse, as bad guys do, and then from there on out it was just me and her. I’ll give her some credit though, at least she’s willing to bloody her own hands instead of making underlings do it.

 

‘Hello Mr. Nelson,’ was all of the introduction and preamble that she felt was necessary before she got to work. I think that was part of what was so goddamn haunting about it, ya know? She didn’t speak a single fucking word as she carved me up, burned me, branded me, pried off my fingernails, broke several toes, all of that fun stuff. She didn’t even say anything when she was patching me up, which was clever of her, by the way. Inflicting those levels of pain are so much worse if it’s infrequent, if there’s a baseline to compare it to. That was really the tell tale for me: she was throughly silent even as she fixed wounds and forced painkillers, during the times that I _could_ reply to any questions. That’s how I realized that this wasn’t an interrogation, this was a murder. There was nothing I could say or do that would stop Vanessa from killing me, or stop her from eliciting as much suffering as possible in the process.

 

And you know what? It’s a weird feeling, knowing that you’re going to die soon. I didn’t know exactly when, Vanessa was going to draw this thing out as long as she fucking pleased, but I knew I wasn’t going to make it to my next birthday. I probably wasn’t even going to make it another week.

 

It’s a weird feeling knowing that you’re going to die, but it’s a hell of a lot more surreal when you turn out to be _wrong._ I ended up getting rescued after what I’m told was about two weeks with Vanessa, had my lung collapse twice, was in a coma for about 2 days and the ICU for a week after that, before spending around 2 months in the hospital and 7 months in physical therapy. During the times that I was conscious I know I should’ve been relieved that I was alive, and don’t get me wrong, I absolutely fucking was, but it also seemed...fake, somehow? Like a mistake had been made? Just the sensation that I was still breathing, that my heart was still beating and my physical body and mind still existed in the world seemed like some grand trick, some illusion meant just to mess with me. Still does, sometimes. Everything since that day has felt like borrowed time, which fucks up your sense of purpose something fierce, let me tell ya.

 

Actually, shit, _fuck_ , that’s not the point of this particular story, so, uh, just stick a pin in that whole nihilistic mess for now. What I’m _trying_ to talk about is how 9 months after everything, I was officially declared to be able to live independently and go out into the world and be a person again. Thing was, I had forgotten how to do literally any of those things. 9 months was so dedicated on physically getting my shit together, that I had altogether ignored the mental side of things, aka, I hadn’t bothered to acknowledge what an absolute wreck I was. Or, still am, actually, but it was on a way worse scale back then.

 

Luckily, I bought the shitty office space that we had instead of renting it, so it was ready for me to go back to whenever I recovered. On the way there, I was thinking about how everything worked out and that I was about to get back on track, which I fully believed despite that being a _tremendously_ naive notion. I made it all the way through the front door and flipped on the light switch and sat at my old desk and was about to get started on playing catch up and wouldn’t you know it I immediately had an anxiety attack.

 

After about 20 minutes, it subsided, but the fear that had set it off wasn’t gone. My brain was 100% convinced if I stayed, if I did my _fucking job,_ I was a dead man. So, I did a quick check of my finances, realized that through some combination of miracles and ridiculously comprehensive health insurance, I was debt free and had about $2000 in the bank. In turn, I closed out that account and got the cash, texted Karen I was closing shop and my parents that I was gonna be out of town for awhile, and got on the soonest Greyhound bus taking me anywhere out of state. _Fuck Matt,_ I literally was enacting out a _Journey_ song and I still thought it was a good idea.

 

I spent the next two months flawlessly playing the role of aimless drifter until I was low on cash and desperately homesick. Turns out, being on the road for an extended amount of time with no sense of what you’re doing or where you’re going isn’t as romantic of an endeavor as 20th century literature would have you believe. All in all, I rode back to the outskirts of Hell’s Kitchen, quite literally stumbled into a job with Josie, and have been hiding from my life in a diner at three am ever since.”

 

“Is that really what you’re doing? Hiding?”

 

“Oh yeah, big time. I basically abandoned every body and thing I care about because I got scared. Because I still _am_ scared. I’m a coward through and through.”

 

“I’m not sure avoiding someone who tried to kill you counts as cowardice.”

 

“I’m not avoiding someone who tried to kill me, I’m avoiding _everyone,_ Matt. _Also_ , that’s pretty damn rich coming from the man without fear.”

 

Matt’s had a death grip of Foggy’s arm during the entirely of this conversation, but Foggy’s sure to notice that he’s gone completely stiff next to him. Furrowing his brow and giving Foggy his best earnestly confused face, he asks, “I don’t know what you mean.”

 

That earns him a snort and a shoulder bump as Foggy asks, “I thought you were gonna be honest about all your scrapes and bruises during this conversation.”

 

“I still don’t know what you mean.”

 

“ _Matthew.”_

 

“ _Franklin.”_

 

With a sigh, Foggy replies, “Fine, I’ll give in. You’re Daredevil, right? Or did I severely misread the situation?”

 

Well fuck, here goes nothing. Matt’s tension is let go as he pauses, considering what it would be like to actually sit down and discuss being Daredevil with someone. Claire’s great and fantastic and basically an angel walking among mere mortal folk, but she’s not actually there to tolerate him waxing philosophical about his activities while she’s trying to make sure he’s not bleeding out. “When did you figure it out?”

 

“Hon, I may not remember a whole lot from the night my life was saved, but I did distinctly etch the image of my savior on my brain, and he was only covering half of his face. When you came into the diner, I was pretty damn sure I’d seen that jawline before. The bruises and the timing of your entrances matched up with my suspicions, especially when I later checked police reports.”

 

“So you _were_ teasing me with that whole ‘quite the daredevil’ line?”

 

“Oh yeah, absolutely. Well, teasing you and seeing if you reacted in any way, it was a whole ‘ to catch the conscience of the king’ type scenario. You did, by the way. Hook, line and sinker.”

 

Damn, Matt really needed to get a better poker face one of these days. “So if you’ve known all along, why haven’t you said anything? Asked any questions?”

 

“Dude, you saved my life. Least I could do was afford you a little privacy. Plus, flirting with you is _way_ more fun than being all ‘What’s with the whole dressing up like a devil and punching guys thing? Do you sleep? How do you reconcile the cognitive dissonance between being a vigilante and a lawyer? Since you’ve gotten to know me do you regret saving someone who’s so clearly wasting their second chance at life?’ and whatnot.”

 

Foggy Nelson was a man of many talents. One of said talents seemed to include the uncanny ability to break Matt’s heart. While Matt almost certainly didn’t have to words to fix any of this, he wasn’t always completely lost when it came to comforting people. Deciding to take a risk, Matt loosened his grip from Foggy’s elbow so he could intertwine their fingers. Foggy let out a surprised noise, but he also gave Matt’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “Foggy, since I’ve gotten to know you I’ve never been so unbelievably grateful that I wasn’ttoo late to save someone. I can’t imagine a universe that would be better without you in it.”

 

Foggy snorts at that, though Matt can’t think of a single goddamn thing that was funny about his words, or in what Foggy’s about to say. “I don’t think you have to imagine it, Matt. I think that’s the universe we’re already living in.”

 

“You… you _can’t_ believe that.”

 

“I let my family suffer for six months for no other reason than my own shittiness, man. Hard to say that I’m making things better.”

 

“ _Bullshit._ Your family would’ve suffered the rest of their goddamn lives if you had died!”

 

_Shit,_ Matt’s full on trembling now, and Foggy’s leaned away from him, heart rate elevated. With the hand that isn’t clinging on to Foggy’s, he rubs his eyes and breaths through his nose, trying to recollect his thoughts. Quietly, carefully, he says, “When I was nine, I helped an old man and got blinded for my troubles.

 

At the time, I was too young and too overwhelmed to really be thinking about the significance of that event. In the years to come, however, I would often wonder if at that time I was supposed to lose more than just my eyesight. Still do, occasionally.

 

Looking back on it, I’m pretty sure that was the incident that mainly framed my view on the value of my own life. If I die saving someone, so be it. That’d be a better death than most.

 

As Daredevil, I’ve narrowly escaped death more than a handful of times. Each time I wonder if I was supposed to make it this time, if my luck was supposed to run out years ago. Each time I shrugged the sentiment off, concluding that when I die, I’ll die. Fighting off death was more of an instinct than a deep desire to stay alive. Or at least, that was true until the last time I got close.

 

It’s exceedingly easy to be a man without fear when you don’t have anything to lose. I mean, I have a nurse friend that’d be pissed if I died, but beyond that I, either by intention or by accident, cultivated a life that had almost no real connections. But, now, Foggy, I have _you.”_

 

Foggy’s breath hitches, and it’s too much, Matt _knows_ it’s too much, but he’s already taken the leap, here’s to hoping that he doesn’t fuck up the landing.

 

“Do you remember that two week period where I didn’t come into the diner at all? It wasn’t exactly by choice.

 

A fight went wrong, I underestimated both the number and the skill of my opponents and they cut deep. There got to be a point where I was in bad enough shape that if I kept going I almost certainly would’ve died, and I would’ve taken down the last of them. As I was considering heading back in, I couldn’t help but think of you. If I died there, who would tell you? Would anyone know to tell you, or would you have to read it in the newspaper, once Daredevil’s body was identified as Matt Murdock? Or even worse, you never heard what happened and I just _left._ Not knowing is a hell of a weight to put on a person, and I didn’t want to be the person that placed that burden on you, so I let the last guy go and desperately tried to stay alive. Four months ago, I doubt I would’ve made that same decision. Four months ago, I’m not sure I would’ve fought to stay alive even if I had stumbled away. So, technically, I can’t objectively say whether or not you make the world a better place. However, I do know that I’m pretty _fucking_ grateful you’re in mine.”

 

There’s a silence that goes on just long enough that Matt suspects Foggy is going to flee. Instead, he receives restitution.

 

“I didn’t realize I’d made such an impact.”

 

“How could you not? Kind people always make an impact, and you’re the kindest person I know.”

 

There’s a pause and the sound of Foggy chewing on his lips before he sighs. “Well, I’m not sure I qualify as all that kind, so maybe hang out with better people, but it is nice to think I might be worth something even if I’m not actively fighting the good fight.”

 

“Foggy, I’m saying you’re what makes the good fight worth _fighting_.”

 

_Fuckin’_ Christ _Murdock, why don’t you just go ahead and propose? You’ve already done it once._ The breath Foggy sucks in is a bit harsh for Matt’s taste, and there’s the definitive mix of chemicals associated with someone’s eyes filling with tears. As quickly as the tears start to form Foggy wipes them away, giving a self-deprecating imitation of a chuckle. “Thank you, Matt. Um, sorry for crying like three times before we even made it to the park, which, hey, finally made it to the park. We totally cheated on the plan though, we were supposed to save all of the rough conversation for the swings. You know, _like adults.”_

 

Now that attention had been brought to their surroundings, the reverberation of the suddenly open spaces and the distinct metal and plastic combo of playground equipment made themselves obvious. Matt had barely even noticed that they were _walking,_ let alone that they had arrived at their intended destination. Usually he had at least a background awareness of his surroundings, but Foggy Nelson had this way of drawing all of Matt’s focus to the point of being dangerous. Luckily, unless Matt has made a horrific judgment call, Foggy’s not one to abuse that power, at least not intentionally.

 

They had paused outside of the entrance, both unsure of how to proceed from here. In an attempt of levity, Matt replied, “I mean, I can think of one or two rough conversations that we could still have on the swings.”

 

“Jesus, _more_ of them? How far does this rabbit hole go?”

 

Matt starts to fidget the fingers that aren’t currently still wrapped around Foggy’s, because, oh yeah, he’d hadn’t ever bothered to go back to a more neutral and platonic leading arrangement. However, neither had Foggy, so it couldn’t be all that bad of thing that Matt was acting like a schoolboy with a crush when they had been very seriously discussing the obscure sensation of not quite feeling like you’re _supposed_ to be alive. Anyway, bad train of thought. Instead, Matt put on a somewhat nervous smile and replied, “Well, it is only one or two more, so not that far. And I’m kind of hoping they’re not really _that_ rough of conversations either.”

 

“Hold that thought, I’m about to start leading you a bit faster so we can finally get to them swings and decide how rough said conversation is.”

 

Foggy, true to his word, picks up his pace and Matt lets himself be tugged. He finds himself feeling oddly like a teenager despite the fact that in his actual adolescence no one ever held his hand and pulled him through a park. As they approached the swings, their pace picked up into a full sprint that, despite the severity of their conversation, gave a giddiness to their circumstances. A giddiness that wasn’t even interrupted when Foggy came to a full stop that resulted in Matt slamming into his side and almost knocking over both of them. Foggy apologizes, but he’s laughing as he does it so Matt nudges him in the side and calls him an asshole.

 

“I’m the asshole who got us to our destination. Now we can talk.”

 

The chains of the swing rattle as Foggy settles in, not properly swing as much as twisting back and forth and occasionally kick up his legs. Matt follows suit, mirroring Foggy’s movements and trying to summon up the gravitas for the next conversation.

 

“So, um, Foggy?”

 

“Mmm?”

 

“My caseload is really too much for one person to be tackling alone. I was wondering if you’d be able to help me out with it.”

 

“Yeah, sure. I mean, kinda weird that you need to ask, considering you’ve been having me help out for like three months, but, yeah, feel free to bring your work by to the diner and I’ll do what I can.”

 

Matt clenches his fists around the chains of the swing and realizes that subtlety is only going to be his enemy in this circumstance. “No, Foggy. I’m saying I need a law partner. I want that law partner to be you.”

 

He doesn’t, actually, have enough cases to justify needed a partner. He does, however, know Foggy would be perfect for the job, that if they combined their efforts, they’d be unstoppable, and Matt hasn’t yearned for something so desperately in _years._ Hence why it’s a devastating blow when, without hesitation, Foggy replies, “Oh, in that case, no thanks. I appreciate the offer, but I really don’t need a pity job.”

 

Frankly, Matt’s a little offended by what Foggy is assuming of him. With a bit of a sneer and a lot of earnestness, Matt replies, “It’s not a pity job.”

 

“Sure it isn’t.”

 

Slightly frustrated, Matt leans forward grabs the chains of Foggy’s swing, yanking hard to Foggy is directly facing him. Making his best attempt to look Foggy in the eye, he tells him, “Foggy, I was blinded when I was nine, I _know_ what pity is, and I know how utterly frustrating it is. This is not pity. This is knowing that you’re _brilliant,_ and that you belong in the courtroom, and that I would be damn lucky to have you as my partner. Also, full disclosure, yes, as much as you’re a wonderful server and goddamn _divine_ cook, I genuinely think you’d be happier being a lawyer, whether we’re working side by side or not, and I wouldn’t have offered if I thought otherwise. So I’m going to go ahead and ask again on the basis that you won’t think so little of my intentions. “Franklin P. Nelson, will you be my law partner?”

 

The silence, just for a beat or two, is heavier than Matt would like. Finally, Foggy sucks in a breath and says, “I don’t know Matt. I don’t have a good answer for you. I..want to, I think, but I didn’t know that I was going to react so badly to going back to my own office, I’m not sure what’ll happen at your firm. Plus, I mean, I gotta talk to Josie before making any decisions, and I have _no_ idea how well we’d work together or if I even remember half the stuff I’m supposed to. Is this a limited time offer kind of deal or can I think about it for a bit?”

 

Matt blinks, and tries to push down the completely unreasonable disappointment of not getting an immediate answer. There were things to arrange, problems to work through, and it’s perfectly logical to need some time to make a decision. However, none of that changes the fact that Matt is rapidly realizing that he has a yawning desire for Foggy to fighting at his side for not entirely professional reasons. “Yeah, um, absolutely take you time. You have my card already so, uh, just call if you make a decision? Or, I mean, we do see each other more days than not, you can tell me at the diner. It’s whatever you want, really.”

 

Matt swore to God, he could be suave and smooth. It was just a bit difficult when on a pair of swings while discussing what they were both pretending was a perfectly normal business venture. Foggy doesn’t seem to mind too much. When he sighs,it’s more out of comfort than discontent. “So, you really do want Murdock and Nelson?”

 

“No.”

 

Foggy makes an inquisitive noise, and Matt clarifies with a tilt of his head and a small smile. “I want Nelson and Murdock.”

 

“Absolutely not. It’s your firm Matt, why would my name go first?”

 

Matt shrugs and can’t help smiling wider. “Sounds better.”

 

“Really? ‘Cause that seems like a hell of a line there Murdock.”

 

“Really! My hearing is _superb,_ I know what sounds good.”

 

“And Nelson and Murdock sounds good to you?”

 

“It sounds _wonderful_ to me.”

 

If the shuffle of his hair and the scraping sound is anything to go by, Foggy is scratching at the back of his neck. “I’m gonna feel real bad about this if I turn it down, won’t I?”

 

Matt takes Foggy’s hands in his own, and resists the urge to wink when Foggy’s heart rate goes up a couple of beats per minute. He’s going for the whole sincerity thing right now. “No, you won’t. This is your decision, Foggy. If you can’t leave your current job or you don’t want to work with me or you’re not willing to be in the law or whatever reason you have not to join me, I’ll understand. This isn’t...this isn’t meant to be an _obligation._ It’s meant to be a offer. I’m not going in with any expectations here.”

 

_Liar._ Luckily, Foggy couldn’t tell. “Okay. Neat. And, thanks, I think, for being cool about all this. I’ve kinda developed a decent amount of neuroses lately, so I appreciate you not, um, being weird about them.”

 

“It’s be pretty hypocritical if I were, considering neuroses are roughly half my personality at this point.”

 

“Huh. Ya know, hon, hearing that from the man who dresses up like a devil to punch people in the night isn’t all that much of a surprise.”

 

They both laugh at that, and Matt realizes that having someone to actually talk about being Daredevil with is pretty fucking nice. Foggy joining the firm would just be icing on an already perfectly made cake. Foggy speaks up first, and it’s much softer now when he says, “Can you give me a week? I’ll have a solid yes or no by the end of a week.”

 

“A week works.”

 

~*~

Matt, through a _remarkable_ display of self-restraint, doesn’t ask Foggy anything about the firm for the week he promised. He sure as shit isn’t going to just leave Foggy alone for that long though, so he still goes to the diner pretty much daily. In that week, Foggy loudly sings “Toxic” when Matt requests a ballad, a woman named Marci that Foggy used to know shows up and Matt comes _this close_ to growling at her, and a drunk man whips out a fiddle and plays “The Devil Went Down to Georgia,” which amuses Foggy to the point where he gives the man his tips for the night.

 

Despite it being a brutal and exhausting night a week later, Matt’s filled with an antsy energy that no amount of punching people is able to dispel. He couldn’t seem to keep his fingers from fidgeting, and no amount of reminding himself that the nerves were ridiculous, that even if Foggy said no he wasn’t going to suddenly kick Matt out of his life (he _won’t),_ actually led to not having said nerves. Still, he hadn’t gone through four years of undergrad and three years of law school without learning how to fake a calm state, so he threw on a charming smile and attempted a casual, “Any news on the job front?” when Foggy came over to fill up his coffee. With a smile wrapped in his words, Foggy cheerfully replied, “Uh, yeah. I got fired.”

 

“ _What?!_ You’re the best employee here, that makes no sense! _”_

 

Foggy tsks at him before saying, “Mr. Murdock, flattery will get you nowhere. Also, you definitely don’t need to throw a tizzy on my behalf like I know you so desperately want to. It’s chill, it wasn’t a malice firing. I talked to Josie about potentially giving my two week notice, about the offer you gave me and whether or not I was needed here instead, and she replied, I quote, ‘Get the hell out of my restaurant and take that offer or I’ll shoot you myself,’ so, ya know, pretty unambiguous there.”

 

Matt’s fingers still, and a wide smile spreads across his face because he’s completely useless at pretending that he’s not over the moon. “You’re accepting? You’re going to be my partner?”

 

Foggy shrugs, and his voice goes soft when he says, “If you’ll still have me.”

 

Phrasing, Nelson. Foggy probably didn’t mean for the words to come out like that, Matt certainly didn’t mean to ask it the way he had, but his breath hitches for a moment anyway. He spends an idle second imagining the possibilities of having Foggy as a partner in more ways than one, of working with him during the day and coming home to him at night, and that familiar gulf of _want_ opens itself up all over again. That’s when it finally hits him, when he’s supposed to be worrying about taking Foggy on as a business/ legal partner, that he’s made a horrible mistake. Not that he asked him to come work with him, the man’s _brilliant,_ no regrets there, but that he didn’t muster up the courage to ask Foggy on a proper goddamn date before becoming coworkers. Some man without fear.

 

What was really unpleasant about the whole affair is that Matt had roped himself into spending forty hours a week with someone he was in love with. In light of this realization, Matt makes his best attempt to keep his rather inconvenient feelings on lock down and not inject too much meaning into “Of course. When can you start?”

 

 

~*~

 

When Foggy enters the office of Murdock law firm (soon to be Nelson and Murdock law, once Matt could afford to order a sign. And once he was a little more certain Foggy actually had intentions to stay.), he lets out a sigh of breath he probably wasn’t aware that he was holding in. Matt, however, was still waiting with baited breath. The office space wasn’t much, the whole firm in general wasn’t much, and it may attest to how much money he _wasn’t_ making, but it was _his._ It was one of the few things he was genuinely proud of, and if Foggy were to disparage the place, this partnership wasn’t going to work. “So, um, what do you think?”

 

With that ever present, effervescent smile in his words, Foggy replies, “Oh Matt, it’s _perfect.”_

 

Of course Foggy would react like that, he’s never been the disparaging type. Though, if Matt’s being honest with himself, as fond as he is of the place he built, he’s pretty sure Foggy is the only perfect thing here. “You don’t have to exaggerate it. I know it’s not exactly the nicest of offices.”

 

“Do I _sound_ like I’m exaggerating, Mr. I Can Hear Heartbeats? Besides, I’m not one to just throw around words like perfect if I didn’t mean them. Like, I’m so ridiculously pumped to be here right now I could kiss you in gratitude.”

 

Matt’s weak chuckle would probably sound forced even to someone without heightened hearing, and his mouth replies “Well, you’re certainly welcome to,” while his brain is screaming in opposition. He doesn’t even have a lack of sleep and food and social engagement as an excuse right now. Fortunately, Foggy doesn’t seem to mind, voice light and semi-distracted when he replies, “Oh yeah?”

 

“More than welcome, actually. Only if you wanted to, though.”

 

Foggy shifts towards Matt, no longer focused on the space around them but instead solely on Matt, which is not great. After a few moments, Foggy break the silence with a simple, “Holy shit,” and Matt’s mind races to try and find a way to back out of this.

 

In the time that he comes up with exactly nothing, Foggy pushes on with, “Murdock, are you actually genuinely romantically interested in me?”

 

In order to prevent himself from saying an all too pathetic, “ _god_ yes,” Matt keeps his damn mouth shut and gives a one shoulder shrug instead. Foggy laughs, bumping his shoulder and saying, “Matt, you absolute doofus. Why didn’t you ask me out?”

 

“You were my waiter. I didn’t want to, uh, force you into anything.”

 

“Because low key demanding intimate details about my personal background is way less obnoxious than wanting to go on a normal ass date, right?”

 

“I’m sorry about that. I got caught up in the moment, I guess.”

 

Foggy taps his hand, asking permission to go further. Matt nods, and Foggy intertwines their fingers, so he’s at least 97% sure he’s not in trouble right now. “Hey, no apology needed. I said yes, didn’t I? I’m just saying you absolutely could’ve asked to go to dinner pretty much whenever. In fact, though this is probably crossing some ethical boundaries now that you’re my boss and all-”

 

“We’re partners, I’m not your boss-”

 

“But if you wanted to ask right now, I wouldn’t say no.”

 

A grin splits Matt’s face, despite knowing damn well how poorly all of this could go. “Foggy Nelson, will you go out with me?”

 

“Mmmm. I dunno, it depends.”

 

“Hm? On what?”

 

Foggy leans closer, voice conspiratorial and inviting when he says , “On how good of a kisser you are.”

 

Matt’s grin takes a sharper edge, whole body focused on Foggy. “Well, in that case..” is all Matt gets out before he’s wrapped one hand around Foggy’s wrist and the other is tangled in his hair, pulling Foggy in for a kiss that he barely manages to keep chaste. As far as kisses go, he’s had better, but that’s less due to technical skill than it is because neither of them can stop smiling for long enough for it to work. As far as potential goes, as far as one kiss hopefully leading to hundreds and the foreseeable future being spent with this bright, charming, _wonderful_ man, well, he can’t complain. “So you really want to do this?”

 

“Noooooo. Why on _Earth_ would I want to date a gorgeous superhero who happens to also be a huge dork and, due to what I suspect are some amazing levels of tolerance, actually likes my singing.”

 

Matt snorts at that, which is probably pretty obnoxious considering that Foggy still has Matt’s tie in his grip and their foreheads are still pressed together, but he has an inclination that Foggy won’t mind. “First of all, your singing is fantastic, so that required no special effort on my part-”

 

“Debatable-”

 

“And _secondly,_ I’m not a superhero. Where did you get that idea?”

 

It’s Foggy’s turn to snort as he replies, “Uhh I don’t know. Maybe because you’re a hero, and you have superpowers, ipso facto superhero.”

 

“I’m not sure I qualify as a hero. I’ve been told by some I’m more of an ‘asshole with anger management issues’.”

 

“Oh yeah, big asshole vibes comin’ from you, guy who consistently tipped 30% because he had a crush on a waiter.”

 

“Hey, I’ll have you know that I tip 30% even at dining establishments where I _don’t_ have a crush on the waitstaff.”

 

Foggy pulls away a little to dramatically gasp and clutch a hand over his heart, and Matt forces himself not to whimper at the minute distance. “You’ve been seeing other dining establishments? And here I thought we had something special!”

 

“I would tell you not to worry because I’ve only got eyes for you, but somehow I don’t think that’d be completely honest.”

 

With a groan, Foggy asks, “Is this what I’ve subjected myself to? A lifetime full of shitty puns?”

 

Matt’s heart stumbles when Foggy says “lifetime” and he has to gently remind himself that Foggy’s agreed to one date and a job, not a vow of marriage. That being said, Matt probably say yes if Foggy were to propose right here and now, because something deep and certain has settled in his chest and he knows that it’ll take a catastrophe to remove it. “Last chance to opt out now, because I have no intentions of changing that habit.”

 

Foggy kisses him on the nose and Matt’s never felt lighter. “No way. You’re stuck with me for the foreseeable future. _Don’t_ make the joke I know you so desperately want to make here.”

 

Matt opens his mouth just to be defiant but bites in back down when Foggy cups his face and says, “Hey, you know that you are, like, actually a hero though, right? I mean, you go out and save lives _all the time._ Not to be too biased or anything, but you saved mine. I think that all qualifies you as a hero.”

 

“..I, um..”

 

“And before you work yourself into a tizzy like I know you tend to do, I’m not saying yes out of some twisted sense of gratitude. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I _am_ grateful, but I’m not trying to, God, I don’t know, repay you with dates or something. I liked you before I actually knew you were Daredevil, and I’m saying yes because I want to date _you,_ Matthew Murdock, horns and all. And because, well, by some miracle, you asked _me_ of all people.”

 

Their hearts have started beating in time with each other and the tenderness in Matt’s words reflects the soft contentedness that’s filled his entire body. “It’s hardly a miracle. You’re a very easy person to fall for.”

 

“I mean, maybe before people know my history, but you’ve heard all my secrets, and you stuck around anyway. That’s pretty miraculous if you ask me.”

 

“Yeah, well, ditto.”

 

Foggy makes a slight noise of protest which means Matt _just has to_ chase away whatever self-deprecating comment he’s about to make with another kiss or three. It takes a few minutes before either of them are willing to pull away, and if they’re in a bit of a state of dishevelment afterwards, well, there’s no one else around to notice. Foggy breaks the silence first with a thoughtful hum preceding, “You know, there is actually a major problem with our relationship.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“How are we supposed to get any work done? I don’t know about you, but I am _much_ more into kissing than depositions.”

 

“Are you doubting my ability to compartmentalize?”

 

“Considering the red fetish gear? No way. I am doubting my own, though.”

 

“You know what, I’m thinking that’s a problem for tomorrow. We don’t have any appointments scheduled, let me take you out to lunch. I’m thinking Italian.”

 

“So you _are_ seeing other restaurants. I’m wounded.”

 

“Foggy. Even if I did want to go to Josie’s after I’ve stolen their best chef, I want you to think long and hard about just how _smug_ Josie would be if we showed up together at a reasonable hour of the day.”

 

Foggy sighs loudly and dramatically, before giggling a little and saying, “God, you’re right. She’d be _so smug.”_

 

“So? Lunch? Maybe the place on 51st Street?”

 

“You know what? That sounds pretty perfect, Matty.”

 

Yeah, it really did.

**Author's Note:**

> Foggy spends the rest of that day singing "Start of something new" and Matt thinks it's profound because he has no idea what High School Musical is.


End file.
